The_Martian_-_a_novel_by_Andy_Weir

They lay in silence, strapped to their couches and ready for launch. Becklooked at Watney’s empty couch and saw Vogel doing the same. Martinez ran aself-check on the nose cone OMS thrusters. They were no longer safe for use. Henoted the malfunction in his log. The airlock cycled. After removing her suit, Lewis made her way to the flightcabin. She wordlessly strapped into her couch, her face a frozen mask. OnlyMartinez dared speak. “Still at pilot-release,” he said quietly. “Ready for launch.” Lewis closed her eyes and nodded. “I’m sorry, Commander,” Martinez said. “You need to verbally—” “Launch,” she said. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, activating the sequence. The retaining clamps ejected from the launch gantry, falling to the ground.Seconds later, preignition pyros fired, igniting the main engines, and the MAVlurched upward. The ship slowly gained speed. As it did, wind shear blew it laterally offcourse. Sensing the problem, the ascent software angled the ship into the wind tocounteract it. As fuel was consumed, the ship got lighter, and the acceleration morepronounced. Rising at this exponential rate, the craft quickly reached maximumacceleration, a limit defined not by the ship’s power, but by the delicate humanbodies inside. As the ship soared, the open OMS ports took their toll. The crew rocked intheir couches as the craft shook violently. Martinez and the ascent software keptit trim, though it was a constant battle. The turbulence tapered off and eventuallyfell to nothing as the atmosphere became thinner and thinner. Suddenly, all force stopped. The first stage had been completed. The crewexperienced weightlessness for several seconds, then were pressed back intotheir couches as the next stage began. Outside, the now-empty first stage fellaway, eventually to crash on some unknown area of the planet below. The second stage pushed the ship ever higher, and into low orbit. Lasting lesstime than the massive first stage, and thrusting much more smoothly, it seemedalmost like an afterthought. Abruptly, the engine stopped, and an oppressive calm replaced the previouscacophony. “Main engine shutdown,” Martinez said. “Ascent time: eight minutes,

fourteen seconds. On course for Hermes intercept.” Normally, an incident-free launch would be cause for celebration. This oneearned only silence broken by Johanssen’s gentle sobbing. •••Four months later… Beck tried not to think about the painful reason he was doing zero-g plantgrowth experiments. He noted the size and shape of the fern leaves, took photos,and made notes. Having completed his science schedule for the day, he checked his watch.Perfect timing. The data dump would be completing soon. He floated past thereactor to the Semicone-A ladder. Traveling feet-first along the ladder, he soon had to grip it in earnest as thecentripetal force of the rotating ship took hold. By the time he reachedSemicone-A he was at 0.4 g. No mere luxury, the centripetal gravity of Hermes kept them fit. Without it,they would have spent their first week on Mars barely able to walk. Zero-gexercise regimens could keep the heart and bones healthy, but none had beendevised that would give them full function from Sol 1. Because the ship was already designed for it, they used the system on thereturn trip as well. Johanssen sat at her station. Lewis sat in the adjacent seat while Vogel andMartinez hovered nearby. The data dump carried e-mails and videos from home.It was the high point of the day. “Is it here yet?” Beck asked as he entered the bridge. “Almost,” Johanssen said. “Ninety-eight percent.” “You’re looking cheerful, Martinez,” Beck said. “My son turned three yesterday.” He beamed. “Should be some pics of theparty. How about you?” “Nothing special,” Beck said. “Peer reviews of a paper I wrote a few yearsback.” “Complete,” Johanssen said. “All the personal e-mails are dispatched to yourlaptops. Also there’s a telemetry update for Vogel and a system update for me.Huh…there’s a voice message addressed to the whole crew.”

She looked over her shoulder to Lewis. Lewis shrugged. “Play it.” Johanssen opened the message, then sat back. “Hermes, this is Mitch Henderson,” the message began. “Henderson?” Martinez said, puzzled. “Talking directly to us withoutCAPCOM?” Lewis held her hand up to signal for silence. “I have some news,” Mitch’s voice continued. “There’s no subtle way to putthis: Mark Watney’s still alive.” Johanssen gasped. “Wha—” Beck stammered. Vogel stood with his mouth agape as a shocked expression swept across hisface. Martinez looked to Lewis. She leaned forward and pinched her chin. “I know that’s a surprise,” Mitch continued. “And I know you’ll have a lot ofquestions. We’re going to answer those questions. But for now I’ll just give youthe basics. “He’s alive and healthy. We found out two months ago and decided not to tellyou; we even censored personal messages. I was strongly against all that. We’retelling you now because we finally have communication with him and a viablerescue plan. It boils down to Ares 4 picking him up with a modified MDV. “We’ll get you a full write-up of what happened, but it’s definitely not yourfault. Mark stresses that every time it comes up. It was just bad luck. “Take some time to absorb this. Your science schedules are cleared fortomorrow. Send all the questions you want and we’ll answer them. Hendersonout.” The message’s end brought stunned silence to the bridge. “He…He’s alive?” Martinez said, then smiled. Vogel nodded excitedly. “He lives.” Johanssen stared at her screen in wide-eyed disbelief. “Holy shit,” Beck laughed. “Holy shit! Commander! He’s alive!” “I left him behind,” Lewis said quietly. The celebrations ceased immediately as the crew saw their commander’sexpression. “But,” Beck began, “we all left togeth—”

“You followed orders,” Lewis interrupted. “I left him behind. In a barren,unreachable, godforsaken wasteland.” Beck looked to Martinez pleadingly. Martinez opened his mouth, but couldfind no words to say. Lewis trudged off the bridge.

CHAPTER 13The employees of Deyo Plastics worked double shifts to finish the Hab canvasfor Ares 3. There was talk of triple shifts, if NASA increased the order again. Noone minded. The overtime pay was spectacular, and the funding was limitless. Woven carbon thread ran slowly through the press, which sandwiched itbetween polymer sheets. The completed material was folded four times andglued together. The resulting thick sheet was then coated with soft resin andtaken to the hot-room to set.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 114Now that NASA can talk to me, they won’t shut the hell up. They want constant updates on every Hab system, and they’ve got a room fullof people trying to micromanage my crops. It’s awesome to have a bunch ofdipshits on Earth telling me, a botanist, how to grow plants. I mostly ignore them. I don’t want to come off as arrogant here, but I’m thebest botanist on the planet. One big bonus: e-mail! Just like the days back on Hermes, I get data dumps.Of course, they relay e-mail from friends and family, but NASA also sends alongchoice messages from the public. I’ve gotten e-mail from rock stars, athletes,actors and actresses, and even the President. One of them was from my alma mater, the University of Chicago. They sayonce you grow crops somewhere, you have officially “colonized” it. Sotechnically, I colonized Mars. In your face, Neil Armstrong! But my favorite e-mail was the one from my mother. It’s exactly what you’dexpect. Thank God you’re alive, stay strong, don’t die, your father says hello,etc. I read it fifty times in a row. Hey, don’t get me wrong, I’m not a mama’s boyor anything. I’m a full-grown man who only occasionally wears diapers (youhave to in an EVA suit). It’s totally manly and normal for me to cling to a letterfrom my mom. It’s not like I’m some homesick kid at camp, right? Admittedly, I have to schlep to the rover five times a day to check e-mail.They can get a message from Earth to Mars, but they can’t get it another tenmeters to the Hab. But hey, I can’t bitch. My odds of living through this are wayhigher now. Last I heard, they’d solved the weight problem on Ares 4’s MDV. Once itlands here, they’ll ditch the heat shield, all the life support stuff, and a bunch ofempty fuel tanks. Then they can take the seven of us (Ares 4’s crew plus me) allthe way to Schiaparelli. They’re already working on my duties for the surfaceops. How cool is that? In other news, I’m learning Morse code. Why? Because it’s our backupcommunications system. NASA figured a decades-old probe isn’t ideal as a solemeans of communication. If Pathfinder craps out, I’ll spell messages with rocks, which NASA will see

with satellites. They can’t reply, but at least we’d have one-way communication.Why Morse code? Because making dots and dashes with rocks is a lot easierthan making letters. It’s a shitty way to communicate. Hopefully it won’t come up.All chemical reactions complete, the sheet was sterilized and moved to a cleanroom. There, a worker cut a strip off the edge, divided it into squares, and puteach through a series of rigorous tests. Having passed inspection, the sheet was then cut to shape. The edges werefolded over, sewn, and resealed with resin. A man with a clipboard made finalinspections, independently verifying the measurements, then approved it for use.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 115The meddling botanists have grudgingly admitted I did a good job. They agreeI’ll have enough food to last till Sol 900. Bearing that in mind, NASA hasfleshed out the mission details of the supply probe. At first, they were working on a desperate plan to get a probe here before Sol400. But I bought another five hundred sols of life with my potato farm, so theyhave more time to work on it. They’ll launch next year during the Hohmann Transfer Window, and it’ll takealmost nine months to get here. It should arrive around Sol 856. It’ll have plentyof food, a spare oxygenator, water reclaimer, and comm system. Three commsystems, actually. I guess they aren’t taking any chances, what with my habit ofbeing nearby when radios break. Got my first e-mail from Hermes today. NASA’s been limiting direct contact. Iguess they’re afraid I’ll say something like “You abandoned me on Mars, youassholes!” I know the crew was surprised to hear from the Ghost of MarsMissions Past, but c’mon! I wish NASA was less of a nanny sometimes.Anyway, they finally let one e-mail through from the Commander: Watney, obviously we’re very happy to hear you survived. As the person responsible for your situation, I wish there was more I could do to directly help. But it looks like NASA has a good rescue plan. I’m sure you’ll continue to show your incredible resourcefulness and get through this. Looking forward to buying you a beer back on Earth. —Lewis My reply: Commander, pure bad luck is responsible for my situation, not you. You made the right call and saved everyone else. I know it must have been a tough decision, but any analysis of that day will show it was the right one. Get everyone else home and I’ll be happy. I will take you up on that beer, though. —Watney The employees carefully folded the sheet and placed it in an argon-filledairtight shipping container. The man with the clipboard placed a sticker on thepackage. “Project Ares 3; Hab Canvas; Sheet AL102.” The package was placed on a charter plane and flown to Edwards Air ForceBase in California. It flew abnormally high, at great cost of fuel, to ensure asmoother flight. Upon arrival, the package was carefully transported by special convoy toPasadena. Once there, it was moved to the JPL Spacecraft Assembly Facility.Over the next five weeks, engineers in white bodysuits assembled Presupply 309.

It contained AL102 as well as twelve other Hab Canvas packages.



































































Turning to Keller, he said, “Make the food last another four days.” Keller nodded. •••“RICH,” said Mike. Rich Purnell concentrated on his computer screen. His cubicle was a landfillof printouts, charts, and reference books. Empty coffee cups rested on everysurface; take-out packaging littered the ground. “Rich,” Mike said, more forcefully. Rich looked up. “Yeah?” “What the hell are you doing?” “Just a little side project. Something I wanted to check up on.” “Well…that’s fine, I guess,” Mike said, “but you need to do your assignedwork first. I asked for those satellite adjustments two weeks ago and you stillhaven’t done them.” “I need some supercomputer time,” Rich said. “You need supercomputer time to calculate routine satellite adjustments?” “No, it’s for this other thing I’m working on,” Rich said. “Rich, seriously. You have to do your job.” Rich thought for a moment. “Would now be a good time for a vacation?” heasked. Mike sighed. “You know what, Rich? I think now would be an ideal time foryou to take a vacation.” “Great!” Rich smiled. “I’ll start right now.” “Sure,” Mike said. “Go on home. Get some rest.” “Oh, I’m not going home,” said Rich, returning to his calculations. Mike rubbed his eyes. “Okay, whatever. About those satellite orbits…?” “I’m on vacation,” Rich said without looking up. Mike shrugged and walked away. •••

[08:01] WATNEY: How’s my care package coming along? [08:16] JPL: A little behind schedule, but we’ll get it done. In the meantime, we want you to get back to work. We’re satisfied the Hab is in good condition. Maintenance only takes you twelve hours per week. We’re going to pack the rest of your time with research and experiments. [08:31] WATNEY: Great! I’m sick of sitting on my ass. I’m going to be here for years. You may as well make use of me. [08:47] JPL: That’s what we’re thinking. We’ll get you a schedule as soon as the science team puts it together. It’ll be mostly EVAs, geological sampling, soil tests, and weekly self-administered medical tests. Honestly, this is the best “bonus Mars time” we’ve had since the Opportunity lander. [09:02] WATNEY: Opportunity never went back to Earth. [09:17] JPL: Sorry. Bad analogy. •••THE JPL Spacecraft Assembly Facility, known as the “clean room,” was the little-known birthplace of the most famous spacecraft in Mars exploration history.Mariner, Viking, Spirit, Opportunity, and Curiosity, just to name a few, had allbeen born in this one room. Today, the room was abuzz with activity as technicians sealed Iris into thespecially designed shipping container. The off-duty techs watched the procedure from the observation deck. Theyhad rarely seen their homes in the last two months; a makeshift bunk room hadbeen set up in the cafeteria. Fully a third of them would normally be asleep atthis hour, but they did not want to miss this moment. The shift leader tightened the final bolt. As he retracted the wrench, theengineers broke into applause. Many of them were in tears. After sixty-three days of grueling work, Iris was complete. •••ANNIE TOOK the podium and adjusted the microphone. “The launch preparations arecomplete,” she said. “Iris is ready to go. The scheduled launch is 9:14 a.m. “Once launched, it will stay in orbit for at least three hours. During that time,Mission Control will gather exact telemetry in preparation for the trans-Marsinjection burn. When that’s complete, the mission will be handed off to the Ares3 presupply team, who will monitor its progress over the following months. Itwill take four hundred and fourteen days to reach Mars.” “About the payload,” a reporter asked, “I hear there’s more than just food?” “That’s true.” Annie smiled. “We allocated one hundred grams for luxuryitems. There are some handwritten letters from Mark’s family, a note from the

President, and a USB drive filled with music from all ages.” “Any disco?” someone asked. “No disco,” Annie said, as chuckles cascaded through the room. CNN’s Cathy Warner spoke up. “If this launch fails, is there any recourse forWatney?” “There are risks to any launch,” Annie said, sidestepping the question, “butwe don’t anticipate problems. The weather at the Cape is clear with warmtemperatures. Conditions couldn’t be better.” “Is there any spending limit to this rescue operation?” another reporter asked.“Some people are beginning to ask how much is too much.” “It’s not about the bottom line,” Annie said, prepared for the question. “It’sabout a human life in immediate danger. But if you want to look at it financially,consider the value of Mark Watney’s extended mission. His prolonged missionand fight for survival are giving us more knowledge about Mars than the rest ofthe Ares program combined.” •••“DO YOU believe in God, Venkat?” Mitch asked. “Sure, lots of ’em,” Venkat said. “I’m Hindu.” “Ask ’em all for help with this launch.” “Will do.” Mitch stepped forward to his station in Mission Control. The room bustledwith activity as the dozens of controllers each made final preparations forlaunch. He put his headset on and glanced at the time readout on the giant centerscreen at the front of the room. He turned on his headset and said, “This is theflight director. Begin launch status check.” “Roger that, Houston” was the reply from the launch control director inFlorida. “CLCDR checking all stations are manned and systems ready,” hebroadcast. “Give me a go/no-go for launch. Talker?” “Go” was the response. “Timer.” “Go,” said another voice. “QAM1.”

“Go.” Resting his chin on his hands, Mitch stared at the center screen. It showed thepad video feed. The booster, amid cloudy water vapor from the cooling process,still had EagleEye3 stenciled on the side. “QAM2.” “Go.” “QAM3.” “Go.” Venkat leaned against the back wall. He was an administrator. His job wasdone. He could only watch and hope. His gaze was fixated on the far wall’sdisplays. In his mind, he saw the numbers, the shift juggling, the outright liesand borderline crimes he’d committed to put this mission together. It would allbe worthwhile, if it worked. “FSC.” “Go.” “Prop One.” “Go.” Teddy sat in the VIP observation room behind Mission Control. His authorityafforded him the very best seat: front-row center. His briefcase lay at his feet andhe held a blue folder in his hands. “Prop Two.” “Go.” “PTO.” “Go.” Annie Montrose paced in her private office next to the press room. Ninetelevisions mounted to the wall were each tuned to a different network; eachnetwork showed the launch pad. A glance at her computer showed foreignnetworks doing the same. The world was holding its breath. “ACC.” “Go.” “LWO.” “Go.” Bruce Ng sat in the JPL cafeteria along with hundreds of engineers who hadgiven everything they had to Iris. They watched the live feed on a projectionscreen. Some fidgeted, unable to find comfortable positions. Others held hands.

It was 6:13 a.m. in Pasadena, yet every single employee was present. “AFLC.” “Go.” “Guidance.” “Go.” Millions of kilometers away, the crew of Hermes listened as they crowdedaround Johanssen’s station. The two-minute transmission time didn’t matter.They had no way to help; there was no need to interact. Johanssen stared intentlyat her screen, although it displayed only the audio signal strength. Beck wrunghis hands. Vogel stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the floor. Martinez prayedsilently at first, then saw no reason to hide it. Commander Lewis stood apart, herarms folded across her chest. “PTC.” “Go.” “Launch Vehicle Director.” “Go.” “Houston, this is Launch Control, we are go for launch.” “Roger,” Mitch said, checking the countdown. “This is Flight, we are go forlaunch on schedule.” “Roger that, Houston,” Launch Control said. “Launch on schedule.” Once the clock reached −00:00:15, the television networks got what they werewaiting for. The timer controller began the verbal countdown. “Fifteen,” shesaid, “fourteen…thirteen…twelve…eleven…” Thousands had gathered at Cape Canaveral, the largest crowd ever to watch anunmanned launch. They listened to the timer controller’s voice as it echoedacross the grandstands. “…ten…nine…eight…seven…” Rich Purnell, entrenched in his orbital calculations, had lost track of time. Hedidn’t notice when his coworkers migrated to the large meeting room where aTV had been set up. In the back of his mind, he thought the office was unusuallyquiet, but he gave it no further thought. “…six…five…four…” “Ignition sequence start.” “…three…two…one…” Clamps released, the booster rose amid a plume of smoke and fire, slowly at

first, then racing ever faster. The assembled crowd cheered it on its way. “…and liftoff of the Iris supply probe,” the timer controller said. As the booster soared, Mitch had no time to watch the spectacle on the mainscreen. “Trim?” he called out. “Trim’s good, Flight” was the immediate response. “Course?” he asked. “On course.” “Altitude one thousand meters,” someone said. “We’ve reached safe-abort,” another person called out, indicating that the shipcould crash harmlessly into the Atlantic Ocean if necessary. “Altitude fifteen hundred meters.” “Pitch and roll maneuver commencing.” “Getting a little shimmy, Flight.” Mitch looked over to the ascent flight director. “Say again?” “A slight shimmy. Onboard guidance is handling it.” “Keep an eye on it,” Mitch said. “Altitude twenty-five hundred meters.” “Pitch and roll complete, twenty-two seconds till staging.” •••WHEN DESIGNING Iris, JPL accounted for catastrophic landing failure. Rather thannormal meal kits, most of the food was cubed protein bar material, which wouldstill be edible even if Iris failed to deploy its tumble balloons and impacted atincredible speed. Because Iris was an unmanned mission, there was no cap on acceleration. Thecontents of the probe endured forces no human could survive. But while NASAhad tested the effects of extreme g-forces on protein cubes, they had not done sowith a simultaneous lateral vibration. Had they been given more time, theywould have. The harmless shimmy, caused by a minor fuel mixture imbalance, rattled thepayload. Iris, mounted firmly within the aeroshell atop the booster, held firm.The protein cubes inside Iris did not. At the microscopic level, the protein cubes were solid food particles

suspended in thick vegetable oil. The food particles compressed to less than halftheir original size, but the oil was barely affected at all. This changed the volumeratio of solid to liquid dramatically, which in turn made the aggregate act as aliquid. Known as “liquefaction,” this process transformed the protein cubes froma steady solid into a flowing sludge. Stored in a compartment that originally had no leftover space, the now-compressed sludge had room to slosh. The shimmy also caused an imbalanced load, forcing the sludge toward theedge of its compartment. This shift in weight only aggravated the largerproblem, and the shimmy grew stronger. •••“SHIMMY’S GETTING violent,” reported the ascent flight director. “How violent?” Mitch said. “More than we like,” he said. “But the accelerometers caught it and calculatedthe new center of mass. The guidance computer is adjusting the engines’ thruststo counteract. We’re still good.” “Keep me posted,” Mitch said. “Thirteen seconds till staging.” The unexpected weight shift had not spelled disaster. All systems weredesigned for worst-case scenarios; each did its job admirably. The ship continuedtoward orbit with only a minor course adjustment, implemented automatically bysophisticated software. The first stage depleted its fuel, and the booster coasted for a fraction of asecond as it jettisoned stage clamps via explosive bolts. The now-empty stagefell away from the craft as the second-stage engines prepared to ignite. The brutal forces had disappeared. The protein sludge floated free in thecontainer. Given two seconds, it would have re-expanded and solidified. But itwas given only a quarter second. As the second stage fired, the craft experienced a sudden jolt of immenseforce. No longer contending with the deadweight of the first stage, theacceleration was profound. The three hundred kilograms of sludge slammed intothe back of its container. The point of impact was at the edge of Iris, nowherenear where the mass was expected to be.

Though Iris was held in place by five large bolts, the force was directedentirely to a single one. The bolt was designed to withstand immense forces; ifnecessary to carry the entire weight of the payload. But it was not designed tosustain a sudden impact from a loose three-hundred-kilogram mass. The bolt sheared. The burden was then shifted to the remaining four bolts. Theforceful impact having passed, their work was considerably easier than that oftheir fallen comrade. Had the pad crew been given time to do normal inspections, they would havenoticed the minor defect in one of the bolts. A defect that slightly weakened it,though it would not cause failure on a normal mission. Still, they would haveswapped it out with a perfect replacement. The off-center load presented unequal force to the four remaining bolts, thedefective one bearing the brunt of it. Soon, it failed as well. From there, the otherthree failed in rapid succession. Iris slipped from its supports in the aeroshell, slamming into the hull. •••“WOAH!” EXCLAIMED the ascent flight director. “Flight, we’re getting a largeprecession!” “What?” Mitch said as alerts beeped and lights flashed across all the consoles. “Force on Iris is at seven g’s,” someone said. “Intermittent signal loss,” called another voice. “Ascent, what’s happening here?” Mitch demanded. “All hell broke loose. It’s spinning on the long axis with a seventeen-degreeprecession.” “How bad?” “At least five rp’s, and falling off course.” “Can you get it to orbit?” “I can’t talk to it at all; signal failures left and right.” “Comm!” Mitch shot to the communications director. “Workin’ on it, Flight,” was the response. “There’s a problem with theonboard system.” “Getting some major g’s inside, Flight.”